


tempus amoris cubiculum non est

by icefalcon



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Drunk Sex, F/M, Gokudera angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-01-02
Updated: 2009-01-02
Packaged: 2017-11-23 09:14:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/620498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icefalcon/pseuds/icefalcon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Space Between – between what we want, between what we need, and what we get when we're drunk in bars and provoke Yamamoto Takeshi.</p>
            </blockquote>





	tempus amoris cubiculum non est

**Author's Note:**

> For ansibs in the 2009 la_consorteria fic exchange (written in 2009, moving my fic to A03)

\--

'Get out. All of you. Now.'

Only in Italy did that work, Gokudera thought dully. It wouldn't work at a bar in Japan, where the stupid idiot should have been. Trust Yamamoto to ignore his direct request, and to have followed him back to Italy, and especially to annoy the crap out of him by getting rid of the bartender when he was in the middle of getting solidly drunk.

He stared fuzzily down at his collection of shot glasses, and told them, 'Just fuck off.'

Somehow, Yamamoto didn't go away, and his glass didn't get filled, so it really was fucking great.

Gokudera lit another cigarette and spat the smoke out viciously. 'Fuck. Off.'

Somehow, that cleared the area faster than Yamamoto's announcement. He felt vaguely smug, until Yamamoto sat down next to him at the bar.

'Gokudera.'

'It goes in one ear and out the other with you, doesn't it?' Gokudera muttered. He watched as Yamamoto picked up his bottle of vodka, poured himself a shot with one of  _Gokudera's shot glasses_ , and tossed it back without a flinch. Bastard did everything well, even drink.

'I thought I told you to stay in Japan, idiot.'

'I heard about what your father did –'

'Don't!' Gokudera, sharp and vicious. 'Just don't. Just fuck off and leave me alone. I don't want to hear your well meaning shit.'

The fluorescent lighting bathed the room in the faintest taint of red, tinting Yamamoto's skin, his skin, their skin together with a suggestion of blood.

He pressed finger and thumb against his eyes until spots began to dance. 'Why is it always you watching me fall apart?' Gokudera said bitterly.

'I've been trying to track you down for a week. I know the Tenth is worried, even if your sister doesn't seem to think that–'

 _'You don't know anything!'_  Gokudera snarled, and kicked at the edge of the bar. What would the stupid idiot who had a perfect life and was perfect at everything and was perfect perfect perfect know about what he was going through?

'You don't know how he treated me,' he added more quietly, staring at a point just to the left of Yamamoto's head. 'You don't know how he treated my mother,' oh fuck did he just mention his mother to  _him,_  'you don't know –'

Yamamoto's faint laugh rang out much louder than it should have in the quiet room.

'What the fuck do you think you're laughing at?' Gokudera snapped out, flinching away. Stupid Gokudera. Stupid.

'You. You'll go head to head with anyone who even looks at the Tenth, yet if there's something wrong, something you could lean on your family to get through, you run away. If you don't want to hear my 'well meaning shit', I won't say it. But I'm not leaving you alone, Gokudera. We're family. And normally you remember that.'

Yamamoto poured another two shots, and slid one back to Gokudera. Gokudera picked it up and bared his teeth, downing the shot and throwing the glass back towards Yamamoto with a little something extra.

\- BOOM -

Yamamoto wiped a trickle of blood from his chin, and Gokudera laughed.

Moving away from the smoke, Gokudera crossed behind the bar and reached for another bottle. He took a deep breath, and proffered it to Yamamoto, swaying slightly.

'Fine. Stay. Whatever. As long as you shut up.'

Oh this was such a bad idea. Not in the least because Yamamoto might be right. But that was because he had stupid perfect face though, only because of that. He laughed. It all kind of made sense. It was all because of Yamamoto's  _face_.

Oh god, he needed another drink.

\---

The thing about drunkenness, Gokudera realised, wasn't that you weren't thinking clearly, it was that you had to think very intensively. About everything. If he wanted another drink, he had to think 'Hand, get bottle. Hand, pour drink. Whoops, hand pour drink, other hand hold glass. Ignore liquor all over hand. Drink! Repeat. And remember you're drunk. So don't do stupid things.'

Stupid things, apparently, included leaning against Yamamoto like he was a fucking teddy bear. He couldn't remember how it had happened, but clearly he had thought about it. He must have thought it through in a logical fashion, because surely he wouldn't be practically in the idiot's lap without having clearly planned it out. He remembered moving from the bar (certainly not because he fell off a bar stool) to one of the leather couches with nice long tables close by, and making Yamamoto bring as much alcohol as he could carry, but he didn't remember sitting down this close to the stupid person.

Yes. He must have planned this though. And it was comfortable. He leaned back, head against Yamamoto's shoulder.

Yamamoto breathed in sharply, pupils dilating. Gokudera thought it was hilarious - and didn't think about how he was close enough to see Yamamoto's pupils dilating... and to feel Yamamoto trembling faintly.

'Hey stupid, how come I'm the one who's drunk but you've got the shakes!' he started to laugh, and then wondered if it was even funny.

'I've drunk enough.' Yamamoto's tone was carefully, rigidly measured.

'Enough for what?' Gokudera leaned in and poked Yamamoto in the chin. He might have been aiming for the pupils, which had widened further, but the intensive 'raise arm, point finger towards eye, poke' action process had failed him.

Yamamoto made a little broken sound that Gokudera thought was kind of interesting until Yamamoto grabbed his chin, yanked his head around and lowered his mouth to Gokudera's.

It was  _warm_. It was warm and kind of good and felt desperate and he could feel Yamamoto's heart beating triple time to his double, and the sensation kept cascading, increasing to a raging torrent, the little 'you're drunk and this is stupid' voice easily drowned out by the warmth building in his stomach and – shit, this was Yamamoto turning him on,  _what_.

'Wait, what?' Gokudera gasped out, pushing back against Yamamoto's chest, feebly at first then pounding more viciously.

'You fucking kissed me!' Gokudera mumbled, drunk with lust or liquor, he wasn't sure, god what was Yamamoto doing to him? And why was he not looking at Gokudera!

Yamamoto's 'I'm sorry -' was choked, as he turned his face away, struggling urgently for something that had fled.

He kept looking away! He had the nerve to kiss Gokudera and now wouldn't look at him.

Gokudera narrowed his eyes, thought about it carefully, and bit Yamamoto on the neck, hard enough to draw blood.

Now Yamamoto was looking at him. And maybe he really hadn't thought that through as well as he should have, because what was clearly visible on Yamamoto's face was a weird mix between pain and confusion, and it was a look that was still not seeing him.

The bastard had no right to look through Gokudera like, like he was someone else. Like he wasn't important.

So Gokudera kissed him back.

That time, it was clumsy and short and not particularly arousing. Gokudera decided he'd shove dynamite down Yamamoto's throat if he said anything, but the groan on Yamamoto's lips as Gokudera pulled back was kind of amazing.

'Gokudera...' Yamamoto moved closer to him, a breath, against the neck, hot, burning lust. No bright smiles, no lazy cheerfulness. Raw lust, tearing through them. Both of them.

Yamamoto broke first – Gokudera was kind of proud – but then they were both reaching for each other, Yamamoto pushing him down first on the crackling leather seat through sheer desperation, but Gokudera was the one who hooked a hand in Yamamoto's hair for another kiss, and another, and another, because it made sense and had completely obliterated his  _brain_.

Yamamoto made an impatient noise in his throat, and Gokudera thought that maybe, just a little bit, he was getting addicted to the  _sounds_  Yamamoto could make, but oh, 'Bastard,' Gokudera moaned, as Yamamoto's hands moved down, teasing and tearing, fingers tracing lines of fire that matched the murderous screaming of Gokudera blood, down, down, over Gokudera's shoulders, back, abdomen, searing across layers of skin.

Hip pressed against hip, and the matching ragged moans triggered a further acceleration of the heavy pulsing of Gokudera's blood. He gave himself over into sensations like hands in the dark, Claiming, marking, rending, hands trailing everywhere, demanding it  _all_ , all the faintly scarred skin, all the dark hair, all of it...

Gokudera bit down on his lip and stifled another moan, before coming to an abrupt conclusion that made sense because this was so good and it could only get better and he wanted, so badly.

'Take your shirt off,' Gokudera demanded, fingers already pulling at Yamamoto's buttons, and thank god Yamamoto had drunk less than him and his stupid perfectness extended to everything, because for once it worked out well for Gokudera and now they were shirtless and he was a genius and was right because this  _was_  the best thing ever, and he couldn't stop shivering, not from cold but because of the warmth of their skin and how it made something in his stomach coil up.

'I love your hair,' Yamamoto muttered hoarsely, hand running through silver. Hah! His hand was shaking still and it wasn't just Gokudera.

'You're weird,' Gokudera gasped back, running his hands over Yamamoto's shoulders, trying to touch everything, because this skin against skin thing was the most intoxicating thing he'd ever felt. He had to have more. Chest against chest, he wormed a hand underneath the waistband of Yamamoto's pants, fingers reaching, fingers rubbing against them both holy shit he was touching Yamamoto's cock and it should have been freaking him out but it wasn't and -

'Wait, wait stop.'

Through the haze, Gokudera tried to make sense of what the idiot was saying.

'Gokudera... I thought I wanted you any way I could get you... but not like this.'

He remained silent, panting against Yamamoto's ear in a groan of frustration. He was drunk and he was horny and there was skin pressed against skin and it was the greatest thing ever even though it was Yamamoto and  _why was he still talking?_

'I'm not going to have you leave me once you're fucking sober. If we're doing this – then you'll be  _mine_.'

'What?' Gokudera blurted out in frustration. Maybe Yamamoto had drunk more than he'd noticed. 'What the fuck are you talking about?'

'You are important to me.' He smiled, that careless, easy grin pressing into the curve of Gokudera's shoulder, before pulling back to look Gokudera in the eyes. 'I want you to know that **you** , not the Vongola, are why I fight.' 

He stared back for a long moment at Yamamoto, the calm and utterly stupid mask back in place - or had it never left? - demanding and challenging him.

'I lo-'

'No!' Distantly, Gokudera thought that Yamamoto's face, all frozen like that, was the most hilarious thing ever... and this was totally the wrong time to be thinking of that, but it did make him think of thoughts of what it'd be like to see Yamamoto come. He would totally have the stupidest face of all time – and it would be because of him. And maybe there was a little bit of him that thought that what was happening here was the best thing ever because it was with Yamamoto.

'I...' Yamamoto's face had turned even stupider, which was kind of funny, except for the part where it hurt.

'Just... just don't say the words. Idiot.' Gokudera added belatedly.

Gokudera twisted his mouth and yanked, pulling Yamamoto's head back, holding it, the heat turning livid in his blood.

'I won't leave. I can't promise you anything other than that.'

Yamamoto drew a startled breath.

'You didn't expect anything from me, did you?' Gokudera said sourly, sitting up and hunching his shoulders. He winced as he slammed his elbow against the table. He either needed another drink so this stopped being so surreal or he needed to have stopped around seven drinks ago. And he was still fucking turned on, at least parts of him were. This sucked.

Yamamoto leaned back against him, not letting him go far. 'No, I didn't expect – Gokudera, I just  _wanted_  from you.'

He turned away for a moment, and when he looked back at Gokudera, the look in his eyes was the look he had when he held his sword, when he cut down something that stood in their way, a look that said he was completely determined and completely undefeatable.

'Fine,' Yamamoto said quietly. 'Maybe we'll do this a bit differently. Do you want to take me?'

Gokudera's brain woke up from its semi-drunken comatose state in order to  _die_.

Yamamoto's chin tilted up. 'Why, would you think less of me?'

Gokudera stared at him suspiciously, brain slowly starting up again, clicking. 'Is this another way for you to look perfect and be perfect and in control and do everything right and  _why are you laughing_ , dumbass?'

'You're amazingly stupid in some very special ways, Gokudera - wait, you think I'm perfect?'

'I'm not the stupid one!' Gokudera squawked and looked shiftily away. 'I couldn't think less of you if I tried.' Maybe it was ten drinks ago he should have stopped, because he kind of did sound stupid.

He ignored the 'That doesn't sound like a compliment coming from you, Gokudera' from Yamamoto, because he couldn't take anything seriously with Yamamoto working his pants off.

Yamamoto paused. 'Do you really want to do this here?'

'It'll be a romantic story to tell our grandchildren,' Gokudera snapped, half-ignoring that too, because now Yamamoto had moved on to Gokudera's pants, deft hands quickly stripping him bare.

Yamamoto's hands weren't trembling any more. Gokudera's were.

He took a few deep breaths, shaky all over, because Yamamoto was lounging back on his elbows, baring his throat. The bite that Gokudera had marked on him stood out in stark contrast.

If it had been submission, Gokudera wouldn't have found it arousing, but it wasn't anything fucking well near it and there was no way in hell he was going to say no to this.

'Gokudera –'

'If you take it back now,  _I'll kill you,_ ' snapped Gokudera, not nearly as irritated as he should have been, with Yamamoto all exposed like that. Fuck, the idiot was giving him a neck fetish or a nudity fetish or maybe just a Yamamoto fetish.

'I don't take my words back,' Yamamoto said firmly.

Yamamoto had some tube in his hand, and he'd vaguely known they needed something but he had no idea where Yamamoto had gotten it from and if he found out later that Yamamoto planned this, he'd kick his ass, or if he found out later that Yamamoto had slept with anyone else, he'd  _kick_  his  _ass_ , but right now he didn't give a crap. Because he was watching as Yamamoto deliberately, slowly, ran a hand up inside his own leg, raising the thigh and flexing a finger inwards, angling in with a steady stroke, and listening to Yamamoto's soft moan, no, nothing soft about him, a low moan, consuming and consumed by the fluid flame searing through both of them.

'God, I want you -' stark and needy, and Gokudera wasn't sure if it was him or if it was Yamamoto but right now he didn't care, didn't care.

And Gokudera cracked.

He broke down the middle and shattered, because Yamamoto's hands were around his cock and guiding him inside, and it was hot and fast and he was dizzy, snatching out at Yamamoto to stay up, Yamamoto reaching out for him, moaning – oh gods – moaning like he didn't think Yamamoto could do and still sound so amazing, a sharp bite and a yank – shit, demanding, he was falling into something, into him –

And then there were breathy kisses, heavy and hot in his ear, the heady confusion, the sluggish stirring of his blood... Yamamoto was now  _his_ , those moans, those sounds were all his. He was his, he was going to keep him, he belonged to him, wanted to carve his name into Yamamoto's skin, make him – oh god he was thinking stupid things but it all made perfect sense now he was right here and maybe even Yamamoto was a little bit perfect for real after all, and oh -

Not enough contact, not enough, pulling out, pushing Yamamoto onto the top of the table so they had space and not just some narrow couch, brazenly pulling Yamamoto on top of him, Yamamoto sinking back down onto him, and his back was sticky from the alcohol that the table was covered in but who  _cared_ , he  _wanted_ , and it was warm and here and was Yamamoto, shadowy and needing, grinding hard back down on him, reaching, touching – no, that was Gokudera, was him screaming like that, his hands sliding, caressing, running over – oh gods, all that warm skin – salty skin, the best damn thing he'd tasted and now he was even hungrier – and it was hurried and frantic and the furthest from grace he'd ever been and he was about to fall off the table and it was good, good, he'd never thought –

Biting, biting at the throat, he could hear the groan against his teeth and lips and he needed more now, and that red flush across that maddening skin on top of him was the hottest thing he'd seen and he couldn't believe it was Yamamoto giving himself to Gokudera like that, no one ever - oh already pressing back down hard, then hard back up,  _into_  Yamamoto, pushing forward and deep and Yamamoto was going to drive him mad –

No right, no right to feel this good and be teasingly sprawled over Gokudera, to be moving against him like that - he was going mad and it was the best death he could imaging, the sight of all the skin and oh, his hair in his hands and the shift of his hips made them both scream and they were together, pulsing, moving, screaming as a singled blurred creature, tearing at each – which one was he, shaky, spinning, both screaming didn't matter who he was, gods, fast, good, liquid burning in him, heat spreading and –

_\- Ohh -_

\---

It took him a long while to come back from that perfect moment, but when he did, Yamamoto was pressing a possessive kiss against his lips.

'Mine,' Yamamoto murmured in tired satisfaction. Gokudera wasn't sure whether or not he was meant to hear that. He wasn't even sure if he completely hated it, despite the automatic and instantaneous flare of irritation.

He took a breath, and another, and pushed Yamamoto off him. 'Move, you're heavy.'

Gokudera sat up, wincing at the tinkling of glass shards as he moved. He hadn't noticed that he'd been lying on glass at the time, but he was noticing now. Maybe this hadn't been such a great idea. He needed a cigarette.

A hand on his arm -

'Don't you dare turn away from me,' Yamamoto said, cold and clear. 'Not this time.'

'No,' Gokudera said slowly.

Then more decisively - 'I'm staying.'

Yamamoto's smile was so painfully bright that he had to add: 'Although you're a jerk for coming all the way out here just to sort out your own issues. Dumbass. How about supporting me?'


End file.
